


Death's Masque

by Barb G (troutkitty)



Category: Highlander: The Series
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 1999-05-24
Updated: 1999-05-24
Packaged: 2017-10-24 13:01:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,016
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/263761
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/troutkitty/pseuds/Barb%20G
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Duncan's dreaming.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Death's Masque

**Author's Note:**

> Ellen beta'ed it, and Olympia's its godmother. Devo had input too. This is something Ellen suggested. Again, no blood. No pain, no suffering, no agony...weird, huh? This is my birthday story! Quarter of a century old tomorrow! Or today...I'm not sure when you'll open this. And since I'll be gone all day tomorrow I won't be able to post it then.
> 
> Dreams are broken from the text using // // marks Hope it's not too confusing.

//My feet weren't cold.

I marched through the snow and the mud past the bodies of my fallen friends and enemies, and even though my boots were falling apart, my feet weren't frozen. Nor were my fingers, I noticed, once I became aware of them. I wasn't hungry, and my legs didn't hurt. I could feel everything but my own body; the world was solid, but my body was numb, no feeling.

I was dreaming.

I looked over the battlefield and didn't smell the smoke or gun powder or the rotting corpses that were dressed in English and French uniforms. Scavengers, human and otherwise, had picked at their bodies, pulling out pockets and entrails, but it was all just a movie. It didn't involve me. I looked ahead and saw nothing but the thick darkness that hung so close to the ground. A shot was fired, but it was in the distance and coming from where we had been, not where we were going.

The smoke lifted. More shots, and three of the men I marched with fell to the side. I dropped down to my belly with the men that remained and reached for a rifle that was almost out of bullets. I looked up and saw the French general. It would be a coupe for an otherwise ignominious day.

The general looked across the field directly at me, and then took off his tricorn hat.

Methos?//

I sat up, sweating. Methos reached for me in his sleep. I felt his hand on my chest, but I pushed it off and swung my legs out of bed. "Wake up," I said into the darkness, not caring if it made me sound selfish. The man across the field had been Methos. The nose, the eyes--it was my lover.

Methos twitched beside me, still deep in his own dreams, but I couldn't wait. I shook him, and still his body fought to remain asleep. His hands waved me off, and his face tightened before he finally opened his eyes. Methos rubbed his face with the back of his hands, confused, and then groped for the alarm clock, angling it so he could see what time it was.

Quarter to four. "Mac?" Methos finally asked. His voice was cross, but I didn't care.

"Where were you during Waterloo?" I asked.

The barge was quiet except for the gentle sound of the river. It calmed me down. The darkness was almost womb-like. Only a thin sliver of moonlight shone through the window, and it was enough to provide shadows if no actual forms. I was safe here. With the cool night air touching my bare back I began to see how ridiculous this was, but I had to know.

"Why?" Methos said in astonishment.

"I dreamed I saw you there."

"You can't be serious, MacLeod," Methos said, lying back down in the bed. I heard him burrowing under the pillows, and I pulled them from him. "You're holding me responsible for something you saw in your dreams?" he asked.

Out loud it sounded even sillier. "Just tell me," I said, voice thick.

"Getting as far away from Madame Guillotine as possible. I was in the States playing cowboy," he said, and I gave him back his pillows. He took a moment to adjust his nest and turned his back to me. "Dreams aren't reality , Mac," his sleepy lecture continued. "The real question is why did you want to see me there?"

And Methos was gone. I lay back down on my half and listened to his heavy breathing for a long time, but I couldn't get back to sleep.

In the dream, I had wanted to shoot him. Was it just that simple? I moved over to Methos and kissed his shoulder, but he gave me the sleep equivalent of a 'fuck off' gesture with his hand so I left him alone. He'd never forgive me if I woke him up again. Things had gotten easier between us, at least for me. Methos stubbornly refused to give up his apartment, but he spent almost every night at the barge, so I didn't mind. There were still the occasional nights he wouldn't come visit, but he wouldn't stay away very long.

He woke up the next morning, but I remained quiet and still on my side of the bed. The bed dipped as he left me, and I heard him pad across the floor to where he kept his overnight bag. Living out of his suitcase was his penalty for not accepting closet space, so I didn't feel sorry for him. His clothing didn't suffer from being rolled up, at least.

"You're not fooling me," he said with his back turned.

I watched him, no longer pretending to be asleep. He gave himself to me every night, but suddenly it wasn't enough. I wanted him to be mine. "Turn around," I said from the bed.

Methos turned around, holding the grungy grey sweater I hated and he adored. "What?" he asked. He didn't sound all that amused. His lips parted as I sat up in bed.

"Touch yourself."

Methos extended a single index finger and poked himself in the shoulder.

I stood up and grabbed his shoulders, throwing him to the bed. Methos scrambled back, and for a moment he was all flying knees and elbows. I moved over him, straddling his upper thighs, and grabbed both of his wrists in my hands, holding them by his body. He gave in, and I knew he was playing along for me, but the rush from stretching over his body and having him expose his throat to look up at me was enough to help me ignore the pity submission. He could have pulled free if he wanted to, but he didn't. "I said, touch yourself," I snapped.

He tried half-heartedly to pull his right hand free. "Let go of me," he whispered. His eyes were shining in the morning light, but there was a contented tilt to his mouth as he went totally passive under me. "I can't do what you want unless you let me go."

I released his wrists, but moved my hand over his throat. His pulse throbbed under my hand, and as he swallowed, his muscles clenched and released. He didn't complain. He even rocked his head back and offered me more of himself.

Methos' eyes closed, and his hands moved slowly to his lower belly. My throat went dry as he ran just his fingertips over his half-woken length, and then smiled angelically. With a flourish he presented me with his palm. "Oil," he said.

It would have been out of character for me to scramble to obey, but I almost couldn't help myself. I'm sure he heard me fumbling around the nightstand trying to find where the vial was. We had lavender and almond oil in the stand, but it had been a long time since I needed just lotion for the night. Not with Methos in my bed, at least. Methos relaxed again as I opened the tube and poured a small amount onto his palm. I took his hand in mine, running my thumb down his fingers. Methos' eyes flew open, and he worked his jaw, but said nothing. He didn't have to. I saw the way his body responded to my touch.

He dabbed a drop of it on his finger and then touched the base of his cock with it. I watched him settle down in the bed again and ever so slowly massage that single drop of lotion into that one spot. "Methos," I said, surprised my voice remained intact. "Why are you torturing me?"

"I'm not," Methos said, smile growing with his erection. His finger moved up half an inch and started all over again. The thick vein of his cock was swollen under his finger, and he played with it for a moment. "I'm pleasing myself. Isn't that what you wanted?"

"Get it over with."

"If you want a job done right..." Methos said, turning his right hand so it lay flat on his upper thigh for more oil. I wasn't sure if his words were a plea for more patience or an invitation to take over, but my own cock began to remind me of its need. Having Methos under me yet entirely wrapped up in himself was cruel.

He was humming, now, deep in the back of his throat. He wrapped his long fingers around himself and lifted his hips as much he could with me still over him. He kept his touch light to tease me while he seemed oblivious to his own erection. It was becoming darker, harder, and I almost knocked his hand away so I could take over the rhythm and shake Methos out of his indulgent, sadistic mood.

"More," Methos said, holding out his hand. He actually opened his eyes and stopped his humming. His eyes slowly traveled down my own body and stopped at my ignored need. I squeezed more of the tube onto his fingers, and he smiled, twitching his legs. "For my next trick you have to get off me," he said, not stopping the motion of his hand on his cock. I couldn't stop staring, and the dryness moved from my mouth down my throat. I swallowed, but it hurt.

I shifted my weight, kneeling between his now spread legs. He didn't seem to mind being open like a whore in front of me, and his hand sped up on his cock. The humming stopped for a moment as Methos tried to catch his breath. He worked the oil I poured onto his right palm over his two fingers. He parted his legs wider, and then slowly worked his fingers inside him.

I forgot to blink, and my eyes started to sting. The angle was awkward as he started to fuck himself. His humming broke up and lost all of its melody as a hint of desperation slid into the sound. The hazel eyes opened and regarded me with total disregard. "Feel free to jump in any time," he drawled.

I didn't wait for a second invitation. A moment later his ankles were over my shoulders, and I was inside him. He was already slick and stretched out enough that there was nothing to force. I was inside him, and Methos reached out and grabbed hold of the sheets.

I took what Methos offered me. His head snapped back, and I shifted so I could bite him while still impaling him. My body shook trying to slam against him. No matter how hard I forced myself, Methos didn't complain. He had closed his eyes and had that dreamy smile on his face that made me want to hurt him just to break it. I realized what I was thinking, but by then it was too late.

Methos shuddered as the first string of cum hit him in the chest. I pulled him harder onto my cock as his second shudder brought me off, and I came inside his heat.

It took a long time for me to pull back and even want to go have a shower. Methos joined me, but other than washing his hair, I didn't touch him. Being close to him was enough.

//This time my feet did hurt. My little toes were frozen past the point of feeling anything, and I would have to wait until I managed to rest before they could heal themselves. The rest of me was above the dream, but my toes still ached.

Gunshots. I ducked down, remembering Methos, but when I looked up again there was only smoke and screams. Gunpowder burned in my nose as I fired my rifle. A musket went off beside me, and those of us that remained fired into the growing darkness. I loaded again, mechanically going through actions the body never forgets, but every time I reached into my bullet sac there were fewer bullets to draw from.

"Allez! Allez!"

I looked up again, trying to see how many of the red-coats on the side of the road were alive, but I only caught sight of two shaky smiles as I glanced at them. Boys, both of them; their white teeth shone out of filthy faces that didn't yet need to be shaven. The rest of my company, what was left of it, were dead or groaning so quietly it was clear they would be soon.

Then we heard the creaking. The two boys' teeth vanished, and the whites of their eyes started to shine. The French were bringing in their big guns in. If I had been alone, I would have just let them shoot me and given my body time to recover from all the minor irritants, but the boys wouldn't be coming back.

There was no real choice. I threw down my rifle, they threw down their muskets, and we stood up with our hands in the air.

Methos came through the smoke, but there was no warning. He didn't recognize me, at least. "On your knees," he said, and his clipped accent remained the same. His voice was lower, deeper. He motioned his men around the three of us. I nodded my head, and the two boys knelt down.

He looked at me, saw I was an officer, and he nodded. "You, too."

I stared at him, about to tell him to fuck himself, and then saw his eyes. My jaw ached as I knelt down in front of him.//

I woke up sweating, but this time I left Methos asleep where he sprawled. I dressed in an old pair of jeans and grabbed a sweater on the way down the stairs. I crossed the barge from memory and took the stairs up to the deck.

The dream had never happened. I'd never been captured by the French. The wind picked up, and it smelled of the ocean. Anything to clear the smoke from my nose. And the look of terror on those boys' faces.

The door opened, and Methos peered out. He had wrapped the comforter around his shoulders, and when he sat down next to me he brought it over mine. I hunched down into it.

"Do you...want to talk about it?" Methos finally asked after I didn't volunteer anything.

"No."

"Alright, then," Methos said and shifted over closer so that he could run his hand up my thigh under the privacy of the blanket.

"What are you doing?" I asked, wanting to pull away.

"Isn't it obvious?" Methos asked, turning his head so that our noses almost touched. "Taking your mind off it."

"Methos, you don't have to--" I began.

"No, I don't have to. But since I can't sleep without you, and you're not dealing with this, it's up to me to put you to sleep."

I stared at him. It was the first time he had made any admission that he needed me, but at that moment I didn't need his assurances. Methos dismissed the stare and went back to getting into my jeans. It took both of his hands, and his hot breath worked through my sweater as he ducked his head into my chest to see what he was doing.

I stood up, and he covered his loss of balance by sprawling over the bench. He didn't look like he had such long arms until he held them away from his body. "Okay," he drawled, cocking his head to one side. "I guess I'll be inside if you need me," he said.

I called him back. He stopped at the door and looked at me. "Spill it, MacLeod, or I'm going down where it's warm. Why do you always pick the coldest nights of the year to have these epiphanies?"

"Get back under the blanket if you're that cold," I said, and rubbed my face. "I'm telling you it's nothing. Just dreams."

"And?" Methos said, taking his place back. He shifted under the blankets until only his cheekbones stuck out. His hair stuck up from static electricity. I was supposed to tell that imp about surrendering to him?

"You're in them," I said, reluctantly.

"We established that yesterday. What exactly was I doing?"

"You were a General."

"I see. We were...fighting each other?" Methos prompted.

"Yes," I lied.

"Did I win?" Methos asked, cocking his head again.

"No."

"You won."

"I didn't say that."

Methos waited for me to say more, and then slowly nodded. "Mac, come here," he finally said, holding out the blanket.

I moved to him. The heat he radiated was trapped in the blanket, and it engulfed me as I sat down. I hadn't realized how cold I was until Methos was beside me. I slid a hand onto his thigh.

"Mac, undo your jeans."

I couldn't argue; I didn't want to. I unbuttoned them and felt Methos' warm hand on me. "It was just a dream, Mac," Methos whispered in his ear before kissing my earlobe. His hand covered me, moving against me. I shivered, wanting to grab his wrist and force him to fuck me faster, but then his voice lowered, just like in the dream. "Let me hear you say what you want."

I froze, and Methos stopped moving his hand against me. "Mac?"

"It's nothing," I said, but Methos pulled his hand back. The mood was broken. He rested against my shoulder and sighed, and his entire body shifted.

"MacLeod?" Methos finally asked.

"What?"

"I'm really cold, and my bum's going numb. I'm going inside," he said.

I nodded, but he didn't move. He tugged at the blanket, trying to get me to realize I was sitting on it, but then shrugged and left it around me. "Mac?" he asked again.

I looked up without answering.

"Whatever it was that I was or wasn't doing in your dream...I--" I could tell Methos was about to apologize, but then his back tightened. "I'll see you inside."

I nodded. Methos waited a while longer, and then moved away.

I closed my eyes for a moment, feeling sleep sneaking up on me. I stood up and went back inside. Methos was already asleep, curled up on his side with only the sheet over him. I threw the cover over him, and he shivered as the cold blanket touched him. I stripped down and joined him.

* * *

Methos turned to me, and I jumped as the katana was pointed at me. "Methos, put that down," I said.

"Mine's in my coat," he said, motioning to his London fog.

"I'm glad you know where it is. Put the sword down, Methos."

"Come on, MacLeod. Live dangerously."

I went to take it from him, but he slapped my hand away with the flat of the blade. "I suggest you arm yourself, MacLeod," he said, and smiled. He shifted his weight on his feet, then feinted.

"I suggest you put that down," I said, but I knew Methos was not going to be talked out of this. He swung at me again, almost coming too close to just be playing.

"I could give you tons of evidence, collected over millenia, that prove it's good to be the only man with a sword in a swordfight," Methos said.

There was no fighting him, or rather, there was no getting out of fighting him. I grabbed his sword from his jacket and circled around the sofa warily.

Methos took unfair advantage of how carefully I tried not to break anything. He noticed my hesitance and played on it, deliberately almost knocking the lamp over. Neither one of us had a tactical advantage until Methos picked up the statue of the dancers I had bought last week.

"You wouldn't," I said, wanting to kill him. The katana was awkward to handle with only one hand, but I was afraid to press my advantage for fear Methos would drop the sculpture. It wouldn't be the first time he'd done something so stupid.

He tossed it at me. I switched the sword from right to left hand and caught the ivory. Methos hooked the blade from my hand. The katana was at my throat.

I tried to push him away, but Methos pushed me against the wall. "Now, are you going to tell me what's been bothering you, or do I have to start cutting off body parts?" Methos asked. He pressed the blade against me so delicately it didn't slice my skin, but I hissed out of habit.

"Stop this," I snapped, but then I saw the cool tilt to Methos' head.

"No."

I went to brush him aside, but an instant later my back was against the wall again. "What do you hope to accomplish?" I demanded, keeping my head back and refraining from swallowing.

Methos took a deep breath, and then swore, throwing the sword down. "Fine, good, great. Just don't expect me to put on any more shows for you and your ego," he hissed, stalking over to where I had dropped his sword.

I didn't move from the wall. He grabbed his jacket next, tucking in the sword, and spent an embarrassing extra moment trying to find his keys. I was supposed to ask him where he was going and he was supposed to say home and I was supposed to say don't go and he was supposed to tell me to stuff it and I was supposed to wince as he slammed the door shut.

We just skipped to the last part.

//The slap hurt.

I rubbed my cheek, looking up at the Methos in my dream. He had the same darkened facial expression. It wasn't that he hated me; it was just that I was a complete disappointment to him somehow. Methos rubbed the back of his hand against my cheek, and I know I should have felt the rough stubble of days without shaving, but it was smooth skin he touched. This was insane. I couldn't wake up.

"Why are you here?" Methos demanded, moving to stand behind me.

I flinched.

My back prickled with him standing so close. I froze, unable to even open my mouth. Name, rank, and serial number, or the appropriate nineteenth century equivalent. That was it. I opened my mouth to recite the useless facts one more time, but only got through it half way before I was slapped again, splitting my lip. The blood dripped down rapidly onto my uniform. The pain was every bit as real. I winced, but couldn't move my hands. They were manacled behind me; I hadn't been aware of it before. The blood continued to run, unhindered, the split taking a long time to heal.

I had had short hair back then, but Methos wrapped his hand around my ponytail and tilted my head back. "You test me, MacLeod. I don't like being tested. Tell me. What are you here for?"

"Duncan MacLeod--"

Methos yanked my head back, wrapping his fist in my hair. "Do you really think you can escape the pain in here? Tell me!"

What the hell. The information was centuries old. I was protecting no one. I opened my mouth to talk of capturing guns and supply trains, but Methos let go of my hair, stepping back to kick me square between the shoulders. My breath leapt out of me, and iron bands kept my lungs locked shut. My cheek scraped against the hard dirt floor of the tent, and Methos kicked my legs apart.//

"MacLeod?" Methos asked, shaking me awake. I bolted awake, gasping for the air I had been denied in my dream.

Methos' eyes narrowed out of concern, and when he touched my lip delicately, his fingers came back bloody. My pillowcase also had a round, fist-sized blood stain on it, but when I licked my lip nervously, I only touched healthy skin.

"Bite yourself, Mac?" he asked, rubbing the blood between his fingers before licking them clean.

That odd intimacy seemed totally out of place. "Methos--" I said, and my voice was harsh. "Why did you come back?"

Methos sighed, turning away from me for a second, but only to strip off his sweater without banging me with his elbow. "Your heartbeat," he said, muffled.

I waited for him to emerge. "What?" I demanded.

"Don't make me spell it out, MacLeod. I can't sleep without it. Don't you dare make fun of me."

I pulled him to me, half naked. His bare chest was almost hairless compared to mine, and I had to tighten my stomach muscles as he instantly shifted his hips to line up our groins. I groaned, but only partly because of the pressure of his lower belly against mine. He raised up, holding most of his own weight with his forearms.

He stared down at me, with that sort of half-smile, and through the blankets and his jeans, I felt him. He probably felt me, too. I spread my legs, and he settled down into a much better angle. What the hell, I had to wash the bedding anyway. I was already hard, but it wasn't an aching erection until the first time Methos moved against me on purpose. I lay down, unable to look away from the pleasure on Methos' face as he began to seriously fuck me. His eyes were shut...not squeezed tight, not yet, but the man's eyelashes were made darker by the moisture on them. His nostrils flared open as he inhaled, but his mouth pressed shut in that same half-smile that hadn't left his face since I pulled him over me. I loved his cheekbones; they were so uniquely his. And his ears...I needed to nibble on them. The muscles on his neck were taut, tight, and made him completely vulnerable to me.

The heat spread across my body, shooting in jagged spikes up my belly, down my arms, causing my thigh muscles to almost cramp. A look of frustration flashed across Methos' face, tightening his mouth, and he collapsed against me, shifting so that his hands could grip my hips through the blankets.

Methos' breathing became a series of pants and desperate begging sounds. His thrusts against me began as gentle circular motions, but became harsher, faster, harder. His hips lifted off me for a second, and his movements became more violent. If anything the violence made it better, and I managed to spread my legs just a little wider.

My throat went dry as my toes began to curl. I wanted to pull my hands away from the blankets, grab Methos' ass, and force him to move faster, but I couldn't. Methos was concentrating now, moving against me erratically, but I didn't care. It felt so good. The pleasure pulsed through me, beating again every time Methos' weight came in contact with my cock. I couldn't stop my hips from joining his, working up against him. I slammed my head back into the pillows as he threw his head back, completely exposing his throat to me.

And then he keened. The sound came from so far inside him it was almost scary to hear. If my body hadn't already started to tighten in its preparation to come, I would have done something. But by the time the element of pain had registered fuzzily in my brain, it was too late. I shouted, words, name, or just a sound, I had no idea. Every inch of my skin flushed. I helplessly thrashed under his weight, but the blankets effectively pinned me in place under him.

The sound Methos made ended in a sob, and he collapsed against me, heartbeat racing against my chest. I guess mine was, too, but it wasn't enough to keep me awake.

I woke up to my sweat and come sticking the blankets to my skin, and a sleeping Methos on my chest. I nudged him.

"Go 'way," he mumbled, shifting away from where I had nudged him. I groaned as his ribcage pressed against my full bladder. "Methos, you have to get up," I groaned, pushing him off. Methos went to curl up, and then made a face as he moved.

"Oh, yuck," he said, pushing up. "Kind of like a hang-over, isn't it?" he asked, shifting around. I stared at his hips as he finally gave up trying to adjust in his jeans and took them off. "It seemed like such a good idea at the time..."

I got up, catching a whiff of myself as I did. "Shower," I announced. Methos stripped off, disgusted, and joined me.

The shower lasted until the last drop of hot water was gone. Methos moved in behind me, wrapping his arms around me, folding his hands over my stomach. His head pressed against the back of my shoulder, and as he breathed, his chest would occasionally touch my back. He didn't have to say a word. Nothing was needed.

I stood there and accepted his need to be close to me. Did I dream of him because I was afraid of him? Was that it? I wasn't afraid of Methos. He was a part of me. It would be like my left hand stabbing me. We were a part of each other. Even if he wanted to deny it, he couldn't hide from it.

Why then? Why the recurrence? Why the pain? Why was I bringing him into my dream and fighting his dominance so hard? I prefer topping; he loves it on the bottom. But it wasn't strictly enforced. There were days when I loved holding myself open like a wanton whore for him to decide whether he wanted me. So why was I fighting?

I shifted uncomfortably, but he didn't seem to notice the sudden awakening happening inches away from his fingers. Or maybe he did. He kissed my shoulder, delicately closing his teeth a hair's width away from my skin.

"I'm turning into a prune here. Shall we resume this somewhere else and give the hot water tank a chance to recuperate?" he whispered.

He wasn't excited, but he brushed against my hips suggestively. More to prove it to myself than anything, I pushed back into him, and felt the surge against me. Methos chuckled, but untangled his fingers and stepped out. I snapped off the water and took the towel from him.

I toweled his hair, ignoring the amused smile on his face. I daubed at his shoulders, wrapping the towel around him. He lifted his arms to assist me, and I nuzzled his armpit. Methos tensed as I worked my nose into the downy hair, sniffing.

Methos trembled, trying hard not to laugh. When he finally did, it burst from him, snorting. "MacLeod! Stop that this instant."

"Why?" I asked, nuzzling deeper into him.

"Because you have to dry the rest of me off," Methos said, lowering his voice.

"Yes, sir," I whispered, kissing just above his nipple once before going back to my task. Methos stood still for me, but when I looked up to his face, the half-amused smile was gone. There was something regal about the way he flexed one leg as I worked the towel down to his ass.

"You've done this before," I whispered, looking back at the task at hand. I loved the feeling of servitude doing this for him gave me. I kissed his hip, quickly, rubbing my cheek against the smooth muscles.

Methos put his hand on my head, but it was only to steady himself as he lifted his foot. I dried his calf, shivering as Methos rested his foot against my shoulder. His ankle followed, and I gently lifted the foot off me, just to kiss the bone. I sucked on it and saw the look on Methos' face. It was pure bliss. His hand had to come off my head, but he braced himself with the towel rack.

I kissed my way down the arch of his foot, running my tongue down across the balls of his toes. Methos shuddered above me, eyes wide open. So, he didn't think I'd take it that far. I smiled, taking it a step further.

Methos' toes were like his fingers, long and elegant. I had never studied them before, but I had never been this close to them before. He kept them well tended, at least. I worked my tongue between the toes, kissing each one. Methos' eyes were shut again, but his fingers around the towel-rack were white from the pressure of his grip. I was suddenly very glad he wasn' t holding my hair like that.

I'd hit a nerve, then. I smiled, fully intending to run with it. I parted my lips, scraping my teeth against the base of his big toe. Methos shuddered as I slowly bobbed my head up and down the length, looking up to meet his eyes.

Methos opened his eyes to stare at me. He opened his mouth, but instead of speaking he deliberately unclenched his fingers from the towel rack, grabbed my hair, and pulled me to his very erect cock.

"Consider me suitably impressed. Now get on with it," he growled.

Who was I to argue?

I had to scramble back as Methos pushed me against the wall, shoving his dick in my mouth. It was my duty to make sure my teeth were covered and I didn't choke myself; Methos made all the other arrangements. I couldn't have been happier. His fists in my hair, pulling me onto him, making me his whore...it felt good to surrender.

It was perfect. The austere facial expression tightened into something almost painful, and the thrusts down my throat became sporadic and hard. I didn't even have to enter him with my finger. I just pressed against his opening.

"Fuck," Methos screamed, ramming against me hard enough that my eyes watered as the pressure from his pubic bone almost crushed my nose. I tried to push his hips back to give me a moment of breathing space, but his entire body tightened against me and he came, growling something animalistic.

For a long time he just leaned against the wall, panting as his cock softened in my mouth. He pulled away, and I glanced up in time to see his beautiful, goofy smile. "Wow. Thank you."

"Any time?" I asked, pushing to my feet. He didn't back away much, keeping me pinned to the wall. He sort of leaned into me, pressing against my body. His heartbeat echoed in my chest, and he slid his hand along my hip.

"Any time," he agreed, but didn't fight as I grabbed his wrists and kissed them. "MacLeod?"

"Hungry?" I asked, sidestepping him.

"No, Mac, you're not getting it. First you blow my brains out through my ears, and then you have to stand still long enough for me to reciprocate. See, you messed up on the second part," he said.

"I'm feeling like steak tonight," I said, ignoring his words. I just wasn't interested in anything. Methos followed me out. I turned around too quickly for his reflexes, and he bounced against my chest as I wrapped my arms around him. "Tonight," I growled in his ear, and let him go.

Methos' eyebrows almost touched, and his eyes narrowed, but when he spoke, it was only to ask, "Rice or potatoes?"

//The dream again.

Naked, my legs kicked apart, and Methos spat on his open palm. "Tell him," Methos ordered.

"No."

His thumb pressed against me. "Tell him."

I fought, but my arms wouldn't move from where they braced me. My legs trembled, but his cock rubbed against my leg. "Tell him, MacLeod. Do you think he doesn't know it?"

My cheeks flushed. "You can't," I snapped.

"Yes, I can," Methos moved his hips, dragging his erection against my upper thigh. "He does. I've always known."

"I don't love this," I howled. "I don't love this part."

"Accept it, MacLeod, accept him."

"No!"

Methos tsked. "You disappoint me, MacLeod," he said, sadly, sliding into my body. "I thought you were better than that."

The friction tore at me. I banged my head against the ground, feeling muscles tearing at the solid invader inside me, and I screamed, trying to buck him off. The first tears of pain escaped me, and I couldn't fight. I couldn't get him off me. Methos gripped my hips and wouldn't get off. "Accept him, MacLeod," he whispered in my ear, and then kissed my ear. "Please."

I froze, the sudden numbness, disassociating me from my body's pain. "I love him," I whispered, quietly.

Methos stopped moving inside me. "All of him?"

Methos, Adam...doctor, lawyer, Indian chief...Death. I loved him. "I love you," I whispered, sobbing for the first time. "I love you."//

"That's nice, MacLeod, but did any one tell you you're in bed with me?" Methos asked. "Go have one of those dreams when you're alone, will you?"

His voice sounded cross, but tired. Resigned. I kissed his back. "I love you," I whispered.

Methos jolted the rest of the way awake, sitting up in bed. "What?" he demanded.

"I love you," I said, sitting up as well. I turned on the light and saw the almost panicked expression my words had triggered. "Methos, I love you, I--"

"Stop it, Mac," Methos ordered, childishly putting his hands over his ears. He shook his head from side to side, as if that was all it took to deny it. "You don't love me. This--" he motioned the crumpled bedding. "This isn't about love. You know it; I know it. I--"

I grabbed his wrists for the second time the night. Methos wouldn't let go of his ears, and I dragged all of him to me. "I love you."

"You don't know me," Methos said, obviously unaware of how ineffective the hands over his ears were. I had only whispered the words. "Mac, you don't. You can't. I'm not--"

To shut him up, I kissed him. Methos tried talking around my lips, but I wouldn't let him get away. When I finally did release him, Methos jumped out of the bed, searching for his jeans. "Methos?" I asked.

"You naive little fool. Do you think you could love a man like me? You know who I am, what I am, what I've done. You can't forgive that."

"It's not in my nature," I said, and loved the way the shadows of his eyelashes lengthened and waved when he nodded his head like that. "I..." the words failed me for an instant, as I sorted through the list of things to say. 'It wasn't my place to forgive' was too condescending, but anything else was avoiding the question. I took a deep breath and took the last step off the cliff.

"Methos...hear me out," I said. Methos' eyes narrowed, but he stopped buttoning his jeans, for a moment. "I love you. All of you. When you're ready to love me back, you know where I'll be," I said, stretching back onto the bed.

Methos took a step forward. "So, that's it, then." he said.

"What do you mean?" I asked, confused, letting the shock crash over me. Shit. I had blown it. Methos never loved me back. For him it was just a roll in the barge, loft and Thunderbird. "I can't hide how I feel, Methos. I can't keep it just physical anymore. I need you. I need you with me. If you can't be with me..."

His face was an ongoing battle. He took another step forward, and I lifted the blankets for him. He put his hand over mine, but he didn't join me. "If you hurt me, MacLeod... If you turn me out again, I'll kill you. I can handle anything but your rejection. I won't go through that again. Not for you, not for anything. Take it back, MacLeod. I'm begging you. I'll pretend you never said it and you'll deny ever saying it and we can go back to fucking our brains out. I can do that. I--" Methos broke off as I rubbed the ball of my thumb against his wrist bone. "If you tell me we're through again, I'll die," he finished, lamely.

"Methos, I love you," I said, gently.

Methos flared his nostrils and just sort of collapsed down into the bed. I moved to him, gathering him up. "I love you, too," he said, finally, tilting his head back to meet my eyes. I touched his cheek, almost wincing at how vulnerable they made him. He studied me, reaching up to touch my cheek, my brow, my hair. "Promise me you'll never leave me."

"You know I can't do that."

"I know, but promise me anyway."

"I'll never leave you," I said, solemnly. He cocked his head to say something else, but broke the moment by yawning. I kissed his forehead instead. "Good night."

Methos nodded. "'Night," he said, throwing an arm over me.

I loved him. I loved him being there. I loved him next to me; I loved the sound of his breathing, the touch of his hair, his ability to fall asleep in any given situation.

//The dream again.

Only this time it was different. Warmer. Methos met him in the field. It wasn't totally cliched, at least Methos didn't stride across fields of wildflowers, but with the sun shining and the grass blowing, it came close.

"You told him," this dream Methos said. He stopped walking, standing more than a foot away. This wasn't my Methos, but I did owe him.

"Thank you," I said.

He reached across to me, touching me behind the ear. His palm touched my cheek. I stood still for him, accepting the touch. It wasn't sexual, but I closed my eyes, turning to the touch. "Anything about myself you'd like to tell me?" I asked.

"Anything about yourself you're afraid to admit?" Methos asked back.

Even in my dream, I could feel Methos holding on to me. "No," I said.

Methos smiled and faded away.//


End file.
